


'cause a body that hurts is a body worth moving

by orphan_account



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Trans Male Character, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-04
Updated: 2015-05-04
Packaged: 2018-03-28 22:15:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3871681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s a hard twist to Bucky’s lips as he says, "Yeah, like you've got nothing to prove. You gonna lie on your enlistment form again? They'll find out you're a dame, Steve, and they'll--"</p><p>Something familiar boils in Steve’s blood. “I’m <i>not</i> a dame, Bucky, I thought--”</p>
            </blockquote>





	'cause a body that hurts is a body worth moving

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has been languishing in my docs for months now, so I thought it was high time to publish it, even if I'm not entirely satisfied with it.
> 
> Warnings for some misgendering of a trans character and dysphoria, especially related to menstruation.
> 
> Title from Mark Owen's _Us and Ours_.

He’s sick again, something that’s probably the flu this time, and his Ma is making watery stew and telling stories about the old country. He likes the stories, even if he can’t always understand them. The sound of her voice, melodic and thick with accent, is enough to soothe the aches and pains.

At some point, the setting of the stories drift across the ocean to America, just like Ma did, and then she’s saying, “I knew what the doctors were gonna say before they said it. I knew you were gonna be my baby girl, with bright blue eyes and long blonde locks.” She strokes his hair.

That night he creeps into the kitchen and uses a rusty old knife to cut off all his hair. Ma cries when she sees, and won’t stop crying.

+++

By the time Bucky shows up -- literally crashes into Steve’s life by sending a baseball high-speed through Steve’s bedroom window -- Steve’s ma has given up. She trades hard, starchy dresses for white shirts worn thin, and hems in pants taken from the patients at work that don’t need them anymore. She cuts his hair herself.

But she still calls him “daughter”, still calls him “Stephanie”, still calls him “her”, and there’s enough of a dissonance between that and Steve’s angled figure, his close-cropped hair, that Bucky -- made to pay for the damage to the window by doing chores at the Rogers’ household -- scrunches his face up in a frown and asks, “Steve, are you a boy or girl?”

The nickname is one all the neighborhood kids know him by, and it started out as a joke -- a christening and a taunting, all rolled into one -- when Steve started wearing pants, but the feeling of soaring in his chest when he hears it doesn’t feel like a joke at all.

Steve sighs harshly, and says, “Whaddya think, Bucky?” His ma is in the other room.

Bucky blinks at his tone. “Well,” he says slowly, but with confidence, “I think you can be whatever you wanna be.”

Steve stares. That was ridiculous. Stupid. How could Bucky go around saying things like that, when they were both dirt poor and everyone was always whispering about how Steve wouldn’t make it past his next birthday?

It isn’t till a couple months later, when they’re tucked close together on roof that Steve answers the question, tells him the truth.

“Okay, Stevie,” Bucky says with a smile, like it couldn’t be anything other than the easiest thing in the world. Steve grins back and feels the warmth spreading through his chest and thinks that, with Bucky, it just might be.

+++

Bucky finds him in the recruitment center, and things devolve from there.

There’s a hard twist to Bucky’s lips as he says, "Yeah, like you've got nothing to prove. You gonna lie on your enlistment form again? They'll find out you're a dame, Steve, and they'll--"

Something familiar boils in Steve’s blood. “I’m _not_ a dame, Bucky, I thought--” He cuts himself off as his voice wavers, blinks back tears.

He hates this, when he gets heated up, when he gets so angry that he starts blushing and tearing up. Its just some stupid thing that his body does that he can’t control, _another_ thing, just one more thing added to his never-ending list. He wipes the back of one hand, quick, across his eyes, and its already curling up into a fist before he drops it back to his side. “I thought--”

But Bucky’s already holding up his hands in surrender, stepping back, putting space between them. It helps, a bit. Bucky’s been placating him -- or trying to -- for so long now.

“Hey, hey, Steve. You think I don’t know that? I _know_ you’re a fella. But those army doctors,” he shakes his head. “They’re not gonna see it that way. I’m-- I’m _afraid_ , Steve. I couldn’t live with myself if you got locked up, or-- or worse.”

Steve huffs, crosses his arms in front of his chest. “I’m not gonna get locked up, Buck. The last place just told me to put my clothes back on, join the WAC if I wanted it so bad. I just gotta keep tryin’ until I find someone who’ll let me go.”

Bucky’s still shaking his head. “I know dames have dressed up to join the army before, Steve, but what if they find out you think you’re a boy--” He catches himself when he sees Steve scowl grow more pronounced. “Sorry, if they find out you’re a boy? They won’t like it.”

Steve juts his chin out. “You can’t stop me, Buck.”

Bucky’s head is tilted down, so Steve can’t catch the expression on his face. He sounds sad when he says, “Yeah, that’s what I’m so scared of, Stevie.”

But before Steve can say anything, can ask what-- Bucky’s looking up, and the brief slip of the mask is gone. “C’mere, punk,” he says, and Steve’s pulled into his warm embrace.

+++

Basic is hell.

And yeah, Steve should’ve known, had read about it in Bucky’s letters home, how they worked you from sun-up to sun-down and then even some more while you were sleeping. Bucky had taken to it, he knows, like a duck to water. Muscles already there from long shifts at the factories hardened and trained, sharp eye and sharper wit turned to shooting.

Steve tries to keep up. He really, really does. Pushes himself harder than he ever has before, and in the past he’s pushed hard, through illness, and orphaning, and desperation, and beatings. But this is something else, and the tight bandages he wraps around his chest just tire him out that much faster, make breathing with asthmatic lungs that much harder.

Luckily the rest of the guys lose interest in teasing the weakling within the first week. And Steve Rogers was never one to back down from a fight, anyhow.

+++

He wakes up in the dead of night to a trickle of liquid between his thighs and a sickening feeling in his stomach and thinks fast.

He finds an extra T-shirt, wads it up, shoves it down his pants, and strips his sheets. Its laughable to think he could forget about _this_ , but he does every time, inevitably. Some part of his mind just shuts it out, seems to hope that if he just ignores it, it won’t happen. Its Bucky, invariably, who reminds him about it, counting down the days careful and being extra sweet on Steve when it gets near time.

But Bucky’s not here now, and Steve’s up a creek without a paddle.

There’s only one person he can even begin to think about going to, and maybe he’ll get kicked out anyway, but he’s run out of options.

Peggy looks annoyed when she opens the door to the sharp rap of his knuckles on the door to her quarters, but her face softens when she sees him. Her perfectly coiled hair is in disarray now, falling loosely around her face. Her lips are pale without her dark lipstick, and somehow it reminds of his mother, one of the few women he’s seen without makeup.

“Steve?” She asks, confused. There’s a small flutter in his stomach when she says it -- she only ever calls him Private Rogers during training exercises.

His voice is shakey when he speaks. “I need help, ma’am.”

She must see his desperation, because she opens the door wider, lets him step inside. “Of course, Steve, come in.” She motions towards the one rickety chair adorning the room, sits down on her cot.

“Do you...” He closes his eyes, grips the handle of his chair until the wood bites into his palms. “This is going to sound very... strange, ma’am. Impertinent.”

She smiles. “Go on, surprise me.”

“Do you have any supplies I could borrow? Womanly supplies,” he amends when her eyebrow arches. “A-- a pad.”

He knows there’s a high flush on his cheeks because he can feel the burn, just like he can feel Peggy’s eyes boring into him, but he can’t look up, can’t look at anything but his shoes.

“Steve,” she says slowly. “Did somebody put you up to this?”

She thinks its a joke, a stupid dare. The shame of it all makes him flush again. He shakes his head quickly. “No, ma’am. It’s... for me.”

Peggy is quiet for a long moment, and he can almost hear her putting the pieces together. It isn’t hard to, he knows, once you’ve seen part of the picture.

“Oh, _Steve_. Of course I’ll help you.”

+++

"It might make you more--" Howard Stark gestures, crudely, with his hands, and winks at Peggy as he does so.

She ignores him, and Steve tries to do the same. He doesn't know why Stark needed to know the specifics of everything, but apparently his vitarays were just as key to the procedure as everything else.

And he is afraid of that. He's more terrified than he's ever been before in his life that the serum will fail. That his body will betray him, like it always does. He doesn't know what he would do if Stark was right, if he opened his eyes to find he looked like Peggy.

But Dr. Erskine is shaking his head, placing one weathered, steadying hand on Steve's shoulder. "The serum amplifies everything that is inside, yes? Steven will come out looking how he should. To what extent, we do not know, of course, but you will not be unhappy."

+++

Heading up a chorus line in a USO show isn’t exactly what head been hoping for when Senator Brandt had shook his hand, but Steve can’t bring himself to be put out about it. His body is finally, _finally_ beginning to behave the way it should, the way he always dreamed of. He still has to bind, yes, and he pointedly ignores the juncture of his legs, but it's still more than anything he’d ever thought possible.

It takes him a while to get used to things -- to speaking onstage, to being tall, to his new, deeper voice. And the attention.

Before the serum, no one -- well, no one but Bucky, but that was a given -- had paid him any attention unless they were putting a boot through his chest. Now, though, he has hordes of adoring fans. He doesn’t mind the kids, of course, but the dames, well. They circle him like vultures, clamouring for a scrap of meat. There’s only so much he can take.

Rob, one of the stagehands who's become a friend in the past two months, finds him underneath the stage taking a breather. He’s sitting on a spool of cables, and Rob grins, plopping down next to him.

“Ya know, I’ve never seen someone turn down that many gals at once before,” he says.

Something in his tone sets Steve on edge, and he feels the need to defend himself. “I wasn’t-- it just seemed unfair, with all of them-- I’m only looking for one--”

Rob’s hand on his thigh, solid and warm and squeezing gently, cuts him off. “Hey. Relax, buddy. I wasn’t suggesting nothing.”

But the way his hand is running smoothly up and down Steve’s thigh is certainly suggesting _something_.

“Relax.” Rob says again, but how can he when his heart is beating a million miles an hour, when his breath feels torn out of his chest. He’s never let himself have _this_ before, not when he-- not when Bucky--

He surges forward, then, catches Rob’s lips with his own. Its messy, and Rob laughs into it before curling both his hands on the sides of Steve’s head. Rob’s lips are chapped and his mouth is warm. It feels good, and easy, and not at all terrifying like it had just a moment ago. Steve lets his eyes slide close, lean into it.

He shifts with the movement, rocking upwards, and then, suddenly, Steve can feel Rob’s hardness pressed up against his hip. He freezes.

Rob pulls back when he feels Steve stop responding to his kisses, frowning. “What’s wrong?”

But Steve can’t explain the sudden fear gripping him, has never been able to. It hits hard now, curling around him, tearing fiercely at his insides.

“I--I can’t,” he stutters, and runs, for the first time in his life. He let’s Rob think he’s ashamed of being queer, that it was a mistake. Its easier than the alternative.

In the end, Rob doesn’t come overseas with the rest of the troupe.

+++

“Bucky?”

“ _Steve_?”

“I thought you were dead.”

“I thought you were smaller.”

+++

Its Dugan who says it, somewhere that may be Italy, all casual-like, “You know, Cap, if you were a foot shorter an’ a lady, I’d almost think you were Sarge’s Stephanie.”

Steve nearly drops his shield. There’s a ringing in his ears. He swallows, tries to mimic Dum Dum’s easy tone. “Bucky’s who?”

Morita, who is sitting on Steve’s other side, waves a hand in dismissal. “Oh, y’know, his sweetheart. Always going on about her.”

Dugan’s not looking at Steve, really, just keeps polishing his filthy boots with an even filthier-looking rag. His hands are steady. “Yeah. I thought you’d know her, seeing as you and Sarge lived together an’ all.”

He laughs, and its shaky. “Well, you know Bucky, always popular with the dames. Got so many I doubt even he could keep track of ‘em all.”

“I don’t know.” Dugan’s still not meeting his eyes. “She sounded pretty special to me.”

They sit in silence for a moment after that. Dugan moves from his left boot to his right. Morita gets up to go rouse the others. Once he’s out of earshot, Dugan leans in close.

“Its fine by me. God knows everyone needs a little love. Don’t really matter where they get it.”

And it hits Steve, in one great big rush, what Dugan means. What he’s implying. That Bucky made Stephanie to cover up that they’re-- “We’re not queers,” he stutters. _At least not Bucky_ , his mind supplies, but he crushes the thought.

Dugan shrugs like he doesn’t believe Steve. Maybe that’s the most obvious conclusion, when you’re on the outside looking in. “Like I said, don’t matter to me. You two won’t be hurt on account of it, is all. I’ll see to that.”

Steve’s mind tries to wrap itself around that idea, and short circuits. He swallows, mouth dry. “Thanks, Dum Dum.”

Dugan grins, moves to stand. He helps propel himself up by putting a heavy hand on Steve’s shoulder. “No problem, buddy.” He turns, then, and the moment is gone. “Eh, Frenchie, where’s my grub?”

+++

The next time he gets Bucky alone is two weeks later, back in London on a short reprieve. Somewhere in that time the shock of Dugan’s words had simmered and stewed and transformed into rage.

Bucky’s head cracks hard against the wall of the barracks and Steve almost feels guilty for forgetting his new strength until he remembers the feeling of hearing Dugan say “Stephanie” -- like he was falling, like everything inside of him was crumpling, like he couldn’t _breathe_.

“What the _fuck_ was that for?” Bucky growls, but no, Steve’s not letting this go Bucky’s way, not this time.

“I could ask you the same thing -- going around and talking about me as if I was a girl! Calling me _Stephanie_ ,” he spits the name. “What the hell, Buck?”

And where Steve’s anger has always been like molten lava, hot, Bucky’s is the slow slide of glaciers. He rubs where the base of his skull is already purpling and his eyes harden into something cold. His voice doesn’t waver when he speaks. “What did you want me to say, then? You want me shoutin’ to the whole world that my sweetheart’s a fella?”

Bucky’s words hit like a punch to the gut, and something in Steve bursts. “I’m not your fucking _sweetheart_ , Barnes.”

“No.” Bucky crosses his arms across his chest, his mouth one firm line. “No, I guess you’re not.” There’s something pitchy in his tone, and Steve realizes with a start that Bucky is crying.

He jerks, one hand reaching out, but Bucky’s already turning away.

“Wait--” he cries, but Bucky’s already gone.

+++

Five days later, and they still haven’t talked, except for short, curt sentences, clipped orders. Every room he walks into, Bucky just walks right out of. He’d even stood up and left in the middle of a game of cards, his hand and winnings still on the table.

Falsworth smiles at him apologetically while he pushes the abandoned pile of cigarettes and various odds and ends into his own. Steve resists the urge not to hit something.

+++

He goes to Peggy, in the end, because he knows there’s nothing he can’t tell her.

She nods sympathetically through his story, and laughs when he asks her for advice. “Well, Steve, I have to say I don’t have much experience with boy problems, but I’m sure together we can figure something out.”

It takes him a moment to understand the implication behind her words, but then he’s laughing too, and the heavy feeling that’s been festering in the pit of his stomach for the past week lightens just a little.

“Just tell him how you feel, Steve. That’s the only way.”

He knows she’s right. “But what if he’s-- I can’t lose him.”

“Well, you’re not doing that great about keeping him close right now, you know,” she counters, and a swoop of shame courses through him. She lays one hand on his shoulder, squeezes. Its meant to comfort, and it does. “He turned down a ticket home to follow you, remember? You shouldn’t let this come between you.”

+++

Steve confronts Bucky the next day, in the cramped confines of their shared canvas tent, Peggy’s words echoing in his ears.

Its nighttime, and Gabe’s on first watch. Bucky seems content to climb into his bedroll without a word, but Steve turns to face him in the dim light. “Buck? C’mon, Bucky, please talk to me.”

When the silence stretches on, Steve thinks Bucky’s still hell-bent on ignoring him, but then, “What do you want, Steve?”

“I’m sorry. You’ve gotta know that, right? I’m sorry for what I said, and for-- for hurting you. I didn’t mean to. _Fuck_ , I didn’t mean to--”

The sound of Bucky turning over to face him cuts off his worried train of thought. “Steve,” he says. “ _Steve_ , I know. You don’t have to apologize-- I hurt you, too, after all.”

Whatever Steve had been expecting from this conversation, this wasn’t it. He blinks. “What? You didn’t-- I’m fine.” He tries to rack his brains about their scuffle, but it was only him who’d slammed Bucky up against the wall.

“Goddammit,” comes the whispered curse, and Bucky’s sitting up, reaching across between them in the dark. “I shouldn’t’ve been saying those things to Dugan and the rest of the guys in the first place. I didn’t think you’d show up at the front, but that’s no excuse. It was wrong for me to call you Stephanie, and it was wrong to assume that-- that we were something other than friends--”

And Steve knows he must be blushing from the tips of his ears down to his toes with the way his skin burns, but he’s not going to back down. “It wasn’t so wrong, actually.”

Buck blinks. His voice sounds equal parts hopeful and disbelieving when he asks, “It wasn’t?”

That’s all that Steve needs to spur him on in the end, and he’s shifting closer, grabbing Bucky’s undershirt and pulling him closer. “I love you, you big lunk,” he says, and if he’s a little misty-eyed, then Buck is, too.

“Oh, good.” Bucky leans up and kisses Steve’s cheek, the corner of his mouth, and then his lips, dry chaste little things. Teases. “I thought it was just me.” Steve laughs and then they’re kissing for real, and it's hot and wet and perfect, everything that Steve’s been dreaming of for longer than he can remember.

When they break apart, Bucky moans, deep, and starts sliding a hand under Steve’s shirt, using the other to reach for his flies. The sharp sting of panic jolts through him, and he pushes Bucky back.

Bucky frowns. “Wha--?”

Steve sucks in a deep breath through his nose, feels dizzy. He thinks of Rob, the look of betrayal on his face. He can’t do that again.

“I know you like girls, Buck, and maybe you like me, but I can’t-- I can’t have you liking me-- like a girl, like you would for a--” He squeezes his eyes shut, his own breath loud and shaky in his ears, “girl.”

But Bucky just pulls him closer, cradling him, and laughing a bit. It sounds wet so maybe he’s crying, too, but Steve doesn’t open his eyes to check.

“I like both, Stevie. I like, fuck, I like _everyone_. Sometimes when you thought I’d stayed out late with a dame, I was at that queer bar down the street. Steve, no matter what you look like, I see you as a man. I’ll love you as a man.”

And yeah, it just might be the easiest thing.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, okay, so I was originally going to end this with, like any good fic, a lil smut, but I am a) ace and b) a chicken. Rest assured it was very sweet and slow and there was lots of checking in about boundaries.
> 
> Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed, comments and feedback are always welcome!
> 
> You can find me on tumblr at neronaut.


End file.
